Peter David - Psi-Man 01 by Mind-Force Warrior

Author:Mind-Force Warrior [Warrior, Mind-Force]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-05-29T19:42:53+00:00

March 22,2021

9

“NOW CONCENTRATE.”

Chuck held up the spoon and stared at it, his brow furrowing. His lips were drawn tightly back, and a thin sheen of perspiration formed on his forehead.

Slowly, as he grunted, the spoon began to bend.

Across the table from him sat Doctor Ferguson, a heavyset, bearded man who was perpetually making notes. Ferguson nodded in approval as, over five agonizing minutes, Chuck managed to bend the spoon—

Five degrees.

He dropped the spoon, finally, panting with exhaustion, and slumped back in the chair.

Ferguson picked up the spoon, turned it all around. Then he lay it down next to a protractor and started studying it.

“That’s an improvement,” said Chuck hopefully. “You used to use a microscope to measure the bends.”

Ferguson looked up and said nothing, which was about standard for Ferguson.

“Am I free to go now?” asked Chuck. Ferguson gestured and Chuck, nodding, got up and left the small testing room.

Outside the usual haze hung over the sky, the air feeling thicker than usual. Chuck coughed as he looked up and wondered if there was anyplace in the United States—in the world, for that matter—where the air was crisp and clean, and your lungs could be stung with the briskness of the weather rather than with the pollutants.

The headquarters of the Complex was a truly majestic affair, with large, sleek buildings that were mostly glass. Had there been a sun capable of cutting through the cloud cover, it would have given a gorgeous reflection that might have been a hint of what architecture in heaven was like. It had taken Chuck about a week to really learn his way around, be able to pick out the living quarters from the testing quarters, the library from the eatery. Everything except a gift shop, he had thought.

He started walking across the grounds, through with testing for the day. Testing, training, that was all his life consisted of now, it seemed. He jammed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, the hood of his blue sweatshirt pulled up over his head. It was unseasonably brisk and he wondered when summer might be coming.

“HEADS UP!”

The shout was unexpected and Chuck turned quickly, just in time to see a football headed straight at him. He didn’t move but suddenly the football halted in mid-air.

Standing nearby was Quint. His arms were folded, and he was leaning against the base of a statue of former President Quayle. His sunglasses, as always, were in place, and Chuck found it disconcerting talking to someone when he could never make eye-contact with them.

The moment Chuck saw him, the football fell to the ground, bouncing noisily.

“Very good,” said Quint. “That’s the most TK ability you’ve shown in months.”

Chuck looked down at his feet. He scratched at the beard he had begun growing three weeks ago, which was coming in surprisingly dark considering the blondness of his hair. “It’s difficult to just—call it up consciously. Dr. Tyler calls it ‘repressing.’ “

Quint sighed. The Complex shrink he didn’t exactly get along with all that well.

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